Page 36 of The Phoenix (Spy Girl 6)
“Huntley,” the First Lady says upon answering, “have you been watching the news?”
“Yes. May I come over and chat with you and the president?”
“Of course,” she says.
I quickly dress, put on makeup, throw on some clothes, and go to their hotel, where I’m escorted by a Secret Service agent to their suite.
Daniel’s mother greets me with a hug. “Is Daniel feeling okay?” she asks.
“Yes. I suggested he not compete today after I saw the news.”
“I was going to tell him the same. Is this it?” she asks. “Is it starting? Are they being poisoned by grain?”
“I don’t know, but we have to figure out a way to stop it.”
“Let’s go talk to my husband,” she says.
The president is surrounded by his staff at a large dining room table. On a nearby wall is a TV and on it a military-looking map.
As soon as we walk in, their conversation stops. I feel a little awkward, but Amanda Spear seems to take it in stride. She goes up to her husband and whispers in his ear.
“We’ll reconvene after the heat race,” he says.
Once the room is empty, Amanda takes a seat and motions for me to do the same.
“Were you discussing the outbreak here in Montrovia?” she asks him.
Ryan Spear shakes his head. “I wish.”
“What’s going on?”
“Some highly unusual North Korean submarine activity. While they often do military exercises, this is a little different. We believe they have a small fleet of their best submarines currently in international waters off the west coast of Africa in the south Atlantic Ocean. They have maintained military ties with the horn of Africa countries—Ethiopia, Eritrea, and Somalia—but they are on the eastern coast.” He turns his computer toward us with the map that was on the television when we arrived. “This is where we think they are.”
“Are they headed for the United States?” the First Lady asks.
“Or are they headed here?” I wonder aloud.
“Rest assured, we’re working on it,” President Spear says calmly, like this is an everyday occurrence in his job. “Now, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?”
“The situation here in Montrovia,” she says. “People are getting ill with some kind of flu. One has already died.”
“Actually, four have already died,” I correct.
“Actually,” the president counters, “there are new numbers regarding that. Nearly one thousand reporting similar symptoms and nine dead.”
“Can you help Lorenzo with this?” I ask.
“He should have called in the World Health Committee. That’s protocol. They are very good at identifying strains of influenza and figuring out how to treat it.”
“I’m concerned that it might not be treatable,” I say. “Lorenzo had some information before the Olympics about a possible attack on their food supply. Something that would lead to a lot of deaths, something that might spread quickly to the rest of the world.”
“That’s a pretty big jump,” the president says.
“The doctors here have never seen anything like it,” I reply.
“And I think I might have it,” Amanda Spear says, shocking both the president and myself into stunned silence.
After a quick call to Lorenzo, Amanda Spear is taken to the hospital’s royal wing. She’s running a low-grade fever, and her throat is sore. They admit her for observation and start her on a course of antibiotics since no lacy rash has appeared.
The president sits down bedside and takes his wife’s hand. “I called in our Department of Disease Control. Their best team is hopping on a jet as we speak. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“Thank you,” both Amanda and I say.
The television is on, but the sound is muted, and I’m not really paying attention to it until I notice Lorenzo’s handsome face filling the screen. I grab the remote and turn up the volume.
“I’ll make this brief,” he says, speaking to the camera. “As many of you might have heard, we’ve had an outbreak of what doctors believe to be an unusual type of influenza. At least a thousand are under doctor care, and we have nine reported deaths. As per protocol, our local center for infectious diseases is on-site, running tests to determine what we’re facing, and we’ve called in the World Health Committee.
“If you have a sore throat, low-grade fever, and fatigue, we suggest you go to the doctor. However, if you develop an unusual lacy-looking rash, please, get to one of our local hospitals or emergency-care facilities. For those of you visiting, there is a list of locations on our Olympics website. Thank you.”
Just as the reporters start yelling out questions to a health official, who has filled Lorenzo’s spot behind the podium, both my phone and the president’s ring simultaneously.
I answer mine, moving to the corner of the room to speak quietly.
“Did you see the press conference?” Lorenzo asks me.
“I did. Are you doing okay?”
“No. Doctors expect the number of sick to double, if not triple, today. We’re handling it from an infrastructure standpoint, but our medical professionals don’t know how to treat this. Nothing they are trying is working.”
“Are they looking at things other than the flu? Have they looked specifically for poison?”
“Yes, and I recently got word that it has been ruled out as a possibility. They believe it to be an airborne disease. The only common thread they can find between the first ones who were ill is that they were at the opening ceremonies. But that’s not doing us much good because people who weren’t there are also becoming ill. How is the First Lady?”
“She’s okay. Symptoms but no rash so far. Thank you for allowing her to be in the royal wing.”
“You’re welcome. Are you there? At the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Go home.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t function if you got sick or …”
“Died?” I finish his thought.
“Yes.” I hear Juan’s voice in the background, calling him into a meeting. “I love you,” he says before ending the call.
The president’s face looks grim as he finishes his phone call.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
“We’ve got twenty reported cases of what we are now calling Disease X in the United States. Sixty cases in the UK and numerous others around the world. A handful of deaths. This virus has gone global. Very quickly. The news stations are already sensationalizing it, suggesting the worst—that it is a pandemic. We are still operating under the notion that it is an epidemic.”
“What’s the difference?” I ask.
“An epidemic is an infectious disease, spreads rapidly, and affects many people. A pandemic is when there is a global outbreak of the disease. As soon as we get the right people here to run some tests, we’ll figure it out and stop it. We always do.”
I glance at my watch. “I’m going to try to catch Daniel’s heat race. Are you staying here?”
“Yes,” the president replies, “but please, give Daniel our best.”
“And don’t tell him I’m in the hospital until after the race,” his mother adds. “And, whatever you do, don’t let him come see me. He needs to stay healthy.”
Although the royal wing has its own exit, I decide to leave from the hospital’s main one, wanting to see for myself if that many are really sick. If it’s as bad as the news makes it sound.
It is.
And it’s sort of surreal, knowing that we might not be able to stop this.
The hospital’s emergency room lobby is organized, though it’s full of patients awaiting treatment, but no one looks particularly ill, which makes me feel a little bit better.
And I feel a lot better after Daniel wins his heat race and then comes back to the villa, even after learning his mother has taken ill.
He’s sprawled out on the couch, having just finished a late lunch
, and scrolling through his phone. He shows me a photo sent to him by a teammate of the line of athletes waiting to be seen by doctors at the Olympic Village.
“I don’t think you should go back there,” I tell him. “It seems to be spreading quickly.”
“Yeah,” he says, “but I’m going to compete. It’s not like we can avoid the germs. And you were at the hospital today. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. What about you?”
He pulls up his shirt, revealing a red rash on his abdomen.
“Daniel! We need to get you to the hospital!”
“Yeah,” he says, “I know. But, if I do that, it’s like giving up. I have a final tonight and—”
“If this keeps up, they are going to call off the Olympics,” I argue. “Having a lot of medals isn’t going to mean much to your loved ones if you are dead.”
“Yeah, I suppose. Maybe I should just stay here and ride it out. Have Dad’s personal physician give me some antibiotics or something.”
